i tickle my fancy,

with thinking and ponders,sometimes i wonder where i wander and the despair bubbles to the surface i question a purpose.


then the snow falls and my ashes are muddy and damo and all i need is fodd for thought or an exit stamp.



i was going to take the fastlane but there wasn't a ramp,i feel tension in my head like a wooden clamp.


squishing and wish there were days for these words,hoping and dreaming the days would be cured.


i lock down my cell and shut out the light,won't go to sleep 'cause i'm stricken with fright here is an hour and another has passed,my days are outnumbered and the end is too fast.


i wish i could make sense of the jumble and jam,but i'm wired like this and that's what i am .